


Some Small Thing

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, also spoilers ahoy, and i wrote this before i even finished the game, first fic for this series so i'll probably hate this later, he's still an angry boy, so yeah i'll definitely hate this later, some off brand of hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: “Hurt me, if bloodshed is really all you crave.”Or Byleth’s attempt to shed even a little bit of light into her friend’s darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

Even at this hour, he’s dressed in full armor. Byleth wonders if he’s really that paranoid, or simply keen on being on his feet and out the door at a moment’s notice. Then she wonders if he even sleeps at all these days.

He moves to pass her by without acknowledging her presence, so she speaks up. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

It’s a friendly tone, but he ignores it. He’s about to whisk past her, his confident stride never so much as slowing. She steps in his way.

“Dimitri, wait.”

For a second she thinks he’ll ignore that, too, and simply walk over her, but after a couple more steps he stops. His glare is a withering, hateful one, the kind she would never have pictured on his young face five years ago.

“What.”

There are a thousand things she could say, but he’s proven that he doesn’t care about any of them. She goes for something simple.

“Since you’re awake, why don’t we head to the training—”

“No.”

She blinks, frowns, and shifts her weight, but stubbornly keeps the hope in her tone. “You seemed agitated today.” More than usual, even. “It might do you some good to get it out of your system. We don’t have to talk, either,” she adds.

For an instant Dimitri hesitates, which is something. Only for an instant. “No. I can’t hold back anymore. If I raise a blade against you—” He seems to consider his words before finishing flatly, “One of us will die.” There’s a note of finality in it as he moves around her.

The very air in his wake feels charged with frustration, thick with grief. The previous breeze in the monastery’s open walkway is gone, as though his presence alone is enough to suck the life out of a place.

Byleth closes her eyes and listens to his heavy footsteps, each one prodding the painful weight in her chest.

This is different from the blind rage and helplessness she felt watching Jeralt die. It isn’t the same as her panicked concern when she rushed to Rhea’s side, either. It’s a little of each of those things, but it’s mostly frustration—at herself for not being there to stop this transformation, at Dimitri for not being stronger than this, at all the terrible people and circumstances that led him here. While she regrets Jeralt and Rhea, at least she _tried_ back then, flimsy though her efforts ultimately were. Now all she can do is offer empty words that do nothing, because Dimitri doesn’t want _words_. He only cares about actions and deeds, things no one can _give_ him because he insists on being alone, doing everything alone, even as he’s surrounded by people who care about him.

Byleth turns sharply on her heel to focus on his retreating back. She wonders when he started looking so large and imposing.

“I didn’t say anything about blades,” she calls after him calmly.

Even now, it’s easy to find herself slipping into old habits and mindsets without meaning to. When her emotions are running high, as they often do these days, there’s nothing to be done about that—but at other times, when her head is collected and has rein over her heart, her old, detached nature takes over. She still feels, but she can look like she doesn’t.

As Dimitri stops and slowly turns back, she settles into that attitude now.

He says nothing, but his glare speaks for his grudging curiosity. She takes a few slow steps forward, the click of her boot heels loud on the stone.

“I know you have trouble controlling your strength. So we won’t fight,” she says simply. “If lashing out is really the only thing that you...” She withholds a sigh and smiles halfheartedly, more sad than teasing. “You’re strong, but you’re also coordinated. I know that better than anyone.”

Before she knows it, she’s at arm’s length from him. She stops there, holding his unreadable gaze.

“What are you suggesting?” His voice is so flat that it doesn’t even sound like a question, so disinterested that it’s hard to tell if he actually cares. But he hasn’t turned his back again.

What _is_ she suggesting? She’s not even sure she knows.

But she has his attention, which is more than he’s given her the past few weeks. That sliver of hope is enough for her to decide she’ll do anything if it means a chance of saving him from himself—or at the very least, giving him a brief moment of respite from his angry solitude.

“Hurt me, if bloodshed is really all you crave.” If blood alone appease him, she has some to spare. If inflicting pain is all he seeks, it will take more than him to break her. Truthfully, she doesn’t believe either is the case—and she believes in it strongly enough to take the risk, to call his bluff. “But I don’t think it is,” she adds quietly.

His face darkens. Half a stride is all he needs to close the remaining distance between them. “What do _you_ know about what I—” He stops just short of her hand as she raises it. It feels like a small victory, and proof of the trust she still has in him.

“I think, more than anything, that you hate how alone you are,” she murmurs.

For a moment Dimitri doesn’t respond, doesn’t budge.

Then he grabs her shoulder and shoves her against the closest wall hard enough to wind her. One hand is all he needs to hold her there.

“Long gone are the days,” he says calmly, which is somehow far more alarming than his outbursts, “when you had any right to lecture me.”

Her tone is just as steady. “This isn’t a lecture.”

Despite his changes, his hard expression, his harsh words, the terrible things she’s seen him do, she isn’t afraid of Dimitri.

She’s afraid _for_ him.

She settles her hands gently on his arm. His flinch is subtle and doesn’t show in his face.

“This is just a friend,” she tells him, “offering to help you get rid of that loneliness. Just for a little while, no questions asked. No strings attached.”

His grip might ease up slightly. It’s hard to tell.

Her fingers clutch at his sleeve. “Dimitri—”

His palm strikes the stone beside her head. She half suspects the entire wall trembles beneath the blow. Dimitri looks even taller as he leans closer, until his breastplate touches her chest and she has to lean her head back further to see his face.

He smells like death. She noticed before but now, this close, the scent of blood is overwhelming, the bitter tang of it fresh blended with the stale musk of some old and dried.

“Not a hint of fear in your eyes,” he mutters, sounding more annoyed than impressed. “And saying such things so lightly… Since when do you think so little of yourself, Professor?”

“If I do, it’s because I failed one of my closest friends when he needed me most.” There’s an edge to Byleth’s tone, just short of cold. Dimitri isn’t the only one with regrets.

He snorts dismissively. “Even had you been there, it would have changed nothing.” Some of the frown lines in his forehead—those are also new—soften slightly as he glances aside. “Not unless you could have reversed time.”

She breathes in deep and holds it. “I would have, if I could. Unfortunately, now is all we have to work with.”

His silence, perhaps, is his way of agreeing.

A new breeze picks up, ruffling the heavy pelt on his shoulders. Byleth watches the long strands of fur twist and wave as she waits for him to speak again—or, more likely, to pull away and depart without another word.

So she’s surprised when he remarks gruffly, “I’ll say it one last time: I can’t curb my strength. Least of all for delicate tasks.”

Her smile is easy this time. Confident, because she’s certain about him even if he isn’t. “Good thing I’m not delicate.”

He exhales, but she doesn’t know if it’s amusement or exasperation or maybe nothing at all. He turns to her again, giving her face a cursory glance before he looks lower. Before she can decide if she should feel self-conscious, warm leather touches her arm. She looks to see his hand there, and watches as his gloved fingers sweep curiously over her skin like it’s something new. She’s removed her armor pieces for the night, so her arms are bare and vulnerable up to her biceps. Goosebumps break out under his touch.

His left hand catches her waist, sudden and firm as if to keep her upright, or in place. His face is still impassive, but she knows the look of concentration in his eye, dead though it looks now. She has his focus completely and he’s pretending that she doesn’t.

Maybe he was testing her with those touches, or giving her the chance to back out. When she doesn’t, that curious caution of his dissipates.

She bites her lips as his hands grasp roughly everywhere they touch—her sides, her hips, back to her arms, repeating. Exploring her, but at the same time so rushed that it’s more as though he touches her just for the sake of touching her. The discomfort feels more clumsy than intentional, but either way he’ll surely leave bruises. She’ll have to wear her sleeves tomorrow.

It doesn’t take her long to realize that those are the _only_ places he’s touching, nothing more intimate or offensive than that. Between that and his crushing weight pinning her in place as he leans into her, his motions strike her as an attempt to do just that: hold her where she is, as if letting up on his grip for even an instant might allow her to slip away.

Even then, it doesn’t feel demanding or possessive. Just desperate. That’s when Byleth knows she guessed right.

If she has any doubts left, they fizzle out completely at that. She can offer this much.

On impulse she reaches up, unafraid, and takes his face in her hands. Dimitri instantly goes as still as stone, giving her the chance to notice that his skin is soft wherever there isn’t uneven stubble prickling against her fingers.

It’s gone just as quickly as he snatches her wrists and tears her touch away. This time she does make a sound, a short cry as his iron grip strikes her hands numb—but more painful than that is the look of clear distrust in his cold eyes when he pins her arms on either side of her.

It’s reflex, she immediately realizes. How long has it been since he was touched—_really_ touched—by someone else? How long since he hasn’t looked over his shoulder everywhere he goes, seeing enemies in every shadow? Even if he craves contact deep down, he’s spent five long years conditioning himself to be wary of it.

She hadn’t thought that deeply about the effects of solitude on an already burdened mind.

Byleth starts to apologize, but his fingers hurt and she’s not sure she can keep the pain out of her voice.

_You won’t break me._

She leans her head against the wall as she looks up at him, forcing the surprised tension out of her body. He meets the look and holds it. He reads her defiance, her stubbornness—and for a second she thinks something might relent in that stony gaze.

And then he releases her and steps back. 

“This was a bad idea.”

It doesn’t sound accusatory, but it doesn’t seem like self-reprimand, either. His guttural tone is matter-of-fact, no emotion in it whatsoever.

Ignoring the urge to rub her sore wrists, Byleth takes a—slow—half-step towards him. She fears that if the distance between them gets any bigger, she might not be able to close it ever again.

“Wait.”

Unexpectedly, he obeys.

His expression doesn’t budge when she reaches for him again, her movements slow but confident. This time she lets him adjust to the sensation of one hand on his cheek, and then the other, before settling her fingertips behind the sharp curve of his jaw in a gentle grip.

It was meant as a comfort, nothing more, giving him a touch this time instead of him taking it—at least, that’s what she tells herself, but this wouldn’t be the first time her body moved faster than her mind.

_His shouldn’t feel this cold,_ she thinks. Her thumbs sweep lightly over his skin and his thin lips part just so, either in surprise or to speak, but then close again just as quickly. Her eyes go to his mouth, watching and waiting, but he says nothing.

His hands are on her hips again, heavy and firm. She doesn’t know if he means to pull her a step closer or it’s accidental, but she’s all but flush against him and her gaze is still on his face, his cold skin and perpetual frown, and she knows that pulling away will hurt this time because she doesn’t want to leave him to that awful loneliness anymore—she wants to keep him safe from himself, keep him warm, keep him close.

Another impulse, more emotional than the last, makes Byleth stand up on her toes, anticipating that she’ll have to come to him. He surprises her again and meets her halfway, abruptly, in a hard kiss that stings her lips and knocks the breath out of her.

His mouth is as rough as his hands.

She doesn’t think a kiss is supposed to be this much teeth, so hungry and constant that she has to sneak gasps of air when breathing through her nose isn’t fast enough. But she lets him kiss her in this way without objection, even when his grip on the back of her neck makes her wince and his thumb presses too hard into that spot behind her ear and her jaw muscles soon ache with the effort of keeping up with him. He hasn’t stopped touching the rest of her, either, but continues to press more bruises into her arm and side.

It isn’t unpleasant, overall. For every touch that hurts, there’s another that makes her breath catch and her blood run a little warmer. Eventually she stops distinguishing the two, accepting both—the pain, the warmth—as part of him, part of the everything that she’s determined to help him bear.

If Dimitri is thinking anything, he doesn’t show it. He kisses her like she’s keeping him alive, but the sentiment isn’t a gentle one: it’s not the touch of an emotional lover, but more like a wounded soldier clinging tight and white-knuckled to his only weapon. A survival instinct.

Maybe she should be hurt by his indifference, but she isn’t. Not yet, anyway. The sad pang in her chest is only for him—or rather, the touch-starved and isolated shell he’s become.

Her hands slide up into his hair and grasp tight, offering back some force of her own. Silently, she dares him to react again, to bite her harder or lean into her more heavily—but instead his grip shifts and suddenly her knee is hooked over his hip.

She jerks in surprise—at the gesture, at the cold bite of his armor, but mostly at how _close_ the two of them now feel, suddenly leaps and bounds beyond the intimacy of their eager mouths and fumbling hands.

He either ignores her reaction or doesn’t notice it, but presses more of his weight into her and the wall at her back. She pulls him down impossibly closer and harder, her own kiss aggressive now. She can’t tell if she tastes blood or it’s just his morbid air flooding her senses completely.

She’s vaguely aware of his fingers raking across her thigh, of her thin leggings tearing. Her soft gasp goes unheard, lost in the angry kiss that doesn’t quite smother her.

When Dimitri breaks away without warning, the warm night air feels cold in her lungs as she swallows it, panting. It takes her a moment to realize he’s still against her, still sort-of-holding her. After a moment more she feels his mouth brush her neck, unexpectedly light. Tender, even.

It’s so unexpected after everything else that she doesn’t move or speak. She just relaxes and catches her breath, letting him support a little more of her tired weight. His panting is as heavy as hers and hot against her skin. 

His mouth hovers over the pulse still pounding in the side of her neck. His teeth scrape lightly over the sensitive skin there.

“I could tear your throat out right now,” he growls quietly.

Byleth forces herself to remain at ease, but wonders if he feels that pulse skip a beat.

“You’re not that bloodthirsty,” she responds at the same volume. Her voice sounds off—a little hoarse, or maybe just thick. There’s a short burst of breath against her throat—a chuckle?—and then Dimitri’s grip on her knee falls away as he withdraws, just enough to look her in the eye. There’s no humor in his, nothing changed at all from that cold disregard she’s unfortunately come to recognize.

“Not in that sense, perhaps,” he muses in dark humor. An unhinged smile flickers across his mouth like a shadow, there and gone again before Byleth can feel too uneasy. “Maybe there’s still some small thing separating me from a beast, after all.”

He takes a full step back, detaching himself completely. Byleth sucks in a small, relieved breath as his weight leaves her, but there’s a flicker of disappointment in her chest as well.

Dimitri doesn’t thank her. He doesn’t apologize for the numerous red marks he’s left on her skin or the aches she’ll feel in the morning. He doesn’t question her motives or criticize her way of thinking.

Whether he knows it or not, he does the worst thing he could do: he turns and leaves without another word.

Byleth watches him go, smothering the urge to call after him or follow. She only waits, wondering solemnly if he’s even further gone than she realized.

And then he stops.

He doesn’t turn back, but he stops. And after a few seconds, he speaks.

“You would do well to be more mindful of where you place your trust.”

She clenches her fists loosely. Her arms throb from her wrists to her biceps.

“I am,” she replies. “I haven’t regretted my choices yet.”

Dimitri’s head might lower slightly at that, but the shadows make it hard to tell for sure. When he resumes his pace, this time he doesn’t stop.

Once he’s out of sight, she leans back and stares at the dark sky. Not many stars to see tonight. She sighs.

For now she can only watch him, and wait—just as she’s been doing for a while now. It’s a disheartening thought, but she clings to her stubborn hope all the same.

Pushing off the wall, she decides to swing by the infirmary before she retires for the night. She won’t be able to hide _all_ of these bruises, and it’s not so late that Manuela won’t still be up and about—hopefully sober. Byleth will have to repay her friend’s healing magic by answering some nosy questions, she’s sure, but better one person’s curiosity than dozens.


	2. Chapter 2

“Professor.”

The gentle tone is startling in the silence and Byleth turns sharply, only to relax again just as quickly. “Oh, Dimitri. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He winces at that, his frown deepening. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I apologize.”

She gives him an easy smile. “No, it’s what I get for being lost in my thoughts. Did you need something?”

He’s standing just outside of conversational distance, but he doesn’t move any closer despite the invitation. Instead he looks past her at the rubble crowding the back of the cathedral. “I didn’t think you were the praying type,” he says quietly.

Part of her smile fades, but she doesn’t push. She’s just glad to have the old Dimitri back, although perhaps that’s not the best way of phrasing it. He’s more _like_ his old self, but she’s come to realize that his cold words to her before－_“The Dimitri you knew then is dead”_－aren’t entirely untrue. She sees so much of that gentle, compassionate prince in the scarred and broken man before her now, but at the same time it’s clear that a few pieces were lost along the way.

“I’m not, really,” she admits after a thoughtful pause. “But it’s a nice place for thinking.”

He gives a light nod, still not looking at her. For a few seconds the room is silent again, and then－ “Professor. I want to apologize.”

Byleth crosses her arms, eyebrows knitted in sympathy. “Seriously, it’s fine. Don’t worry about－”

“Not that,” he interrupts. Slowly, Dimitri brings himself to look at her, his good eye narrowed in a perturbed expression. It’s the same face she’s caught him making in her direction for the last couple days, usually when he thought she wasn’t looking. “I’m referring to that night a few weeks ago.” When she doesn’t react, he clarifies hesitantly, “When… I touched you in ways I shouldn’t have. I behaved in a manner that was entirely inappropriate, to say the least.” There’s a hint of anger in those last few words, and more than a hint on his face. “And for that you have my deepest apologies, for what little it’s worth.”

Byleth lowers her gaze. She doesn’t have to try to make her expression unreadable; it’s a natural reflex when she’s feeling defensive.

Neither of them has mentioned that night since it happened. She didn’t expect him to, and she’s had no reason to bring it up herself. She’d begun to wonder if he forgot about it entirely.

In the corner of her eye, Dimitri shifts his weight. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you,” he says softly. “But please－say something. Even if it’s just to curse me, or say you’ll never forgive me… I deserve as much. But even that would be more bearable than your silence.”

She looks up at him, at the way he’s still teetering on the far outskirts of her personal space as if moving any closer might scare her off. Even in the low light she can see the shame and regret on his face, the stony acceptance of whatever rebuke he’s convinced himself he’ll receive.

Holding his gaze, she gives him the last thing he’s probably expecting: a shake of her head and a warm smile. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I told you, no strings attached.”

Dimitri stares at her. “But－but even so, I－that wasn’t－” He clearly wasn’t expecting that kind of response. “Just because you offered in the first place doesn’t excuse my actions－I had no right to…”

“Dimitri.” He stops stammering and gives her his full attention. “I promise,” she says seriously, firmly, “I don’t regret anything. I wouldn’t change anything, either, if I could.” She rubs her arm distractedly. “If it helped you at all, even a little… then I’m glad.” She’s wondered more than once if it did, but she never asked, assuming she wouldn’t get an answer. She doesn’t ask now, either. It’s in the past, and at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter what he took from it. She bears no grudge against him either way.

She doesn’t ask, but Dimitri answers.

“It did.”

It’s her turn to stare.

When he looks away this time, it turns his blind eye to her and she can’t tell what expression he’s wearing as he speaks. “I would never have admitted it then, but you gave me something I didn’t even realize I’d missed. I was… too stubborn, too self-absorbed to let it affect me for any longer than we were together, but… it _did_ affect me. For the first time in so long, I touched someone without destroying them－without malice. It… I regret to say it was a strange sensation at that point. Foreign, even.”

At his sides, his fists clench and loosen again. “I’m sure it sounds rather self-righteous of me, trying to say some fleeting good came from my greed… Especially when it took me this long to…”

He looks at Byleth and there’s still so much pain in his expression, so much disgrace, but the way his gaze is boring into her suggests there’s a little bit of hope there, too－hope, perhaps, that she doesn’t hate him for it.

“There’s no excuse for my behavior,” he says calmly. “But if it truly comforts you, then please know that your efforts weren’t wasted, Professor. You were the first to reach me in the depths of the dark place I was in－and I was grateful, no matter how foolishly I strove to forget it.”

Another moment of silence follows as they regard one another. Try as she might, Byleth can’t keep a straight face and soon breaks into a pleased smile. She didn’t think hearing that would make her so happy, and yet…

“Then you really don’t have anything to apologize for,” she assures him gently. “I did what I set out to do. I won’t accept an apology for helping you.”

Dimitri hums, a defeated sound, but there’s a hint of a fond, grim smile there. “It’s just like you to say something like that.”

She glances down at her hands. “And besides,” she adds with a one-shouldered shrug, “I was the one who… I kissed _you_, technically, so… I think it would’ve been crueler of you if you _hadn’t_ kissed me back, you know?”

It’s partly meant as a joke to break the tension, but it’s also true. To be entirely fair, Dimitri didn’t do anything that she hadn’t expected or started, so he shouldn’t feel as though he took advantage of her. Shouldn’t, but she’s sure he does.

He clears his throat in a way that’s meant to be quiet, but it’s loud in the still room. “Well…” He struggles for a moment. “Morality aside, I had no reason not to reciprocate. I trust you, and… you’re a lovely woman besides, so I’m sure any man would…”

Byleth wonders if he’s blushing as he says that. She suddenly wishes it wasn’t so dark.

“At any rate,” Dimitri redirects quickly, awkwardly, “if you won’t take an apology, I won’t force one on you. So perhaps I should say this instead.” He looks straight at her once more. “Thank you, Professor.”

Byleth blinks, and then chuckles. “I agree, that’s much better. And... you’re welcome.”

Dimitri still looks tired, still weighed down by the last few years and all their terrible details－perhaps that look will never leave him－but he manages a real smile for her all the same. If Byleth wasn’t already convinced of her feelings about that night, she would be now.

With that matter settled, she takes a step to the side and holds out her hand. “Now, why don’t you join me instead of standing over there by yourself?”

He hesitates, seeming uncertain, but then obliges. It’s unbelievable how different the atmosphere around him is now: the hostility that once twisted about him like smoke, the rage tensed like a snake about to spring, are simply gone as though they never existed.

There’s a different cloud around him now. It’s not a rumbling storm as much as a dense fog, heavy and silent but threatening to isolate him all the same.

Byleth won’t settle for that, either.

She takes a small step closer. “Dimitri… If you find yourself in a dark place again, and you need－or want－someone to reach you...” She brushes her fingers over the back of his hand. His head turns a little too quickly at the contact, but he doesn’t object. “I’ll be here,” she murmurs. “If it’s a hand to hold, or just an ear to listen… I’ll do whatever it takes to remind you that you’re not alone. That you’re more than your past.”

Her hand retreats and she fixes him with a steady look. “But in exchange, you need to trust me. You need to believe me when I say that I want to help you—and you need to stop apologizing,” she adds with a quirk of her lips. “You’re someone I care about, not… not an obligation.”

The sooner Dimitri realizes that, the sooner he can start on the long, difficult road to forgiving himself.

That concentrated look on his face cracks. There’s a glimpse of something soft and vulnerable underneath before he glances away, but it’s in his voice, as well, when he finally speaks.

“I feel as though words are… such small things, coming from me,” he replies slowly. “What’s more, it seems I’m only able to repeat the same ones over and over, especially when it comes to you.” He gives a self-admonishing shake of his head. “And yet, I don’t know how else to express how I feel, so…”

He suddenly gives her a deep bow, low enough to hide his face. “I’ll say it once more: thank you. Truly.”

When he doesn’t immediately rise, Byleth sets a comforting hand on his head. She feels a surprised ripple of tension beneath her touch, and that changes her mind: instead of speaking, she slips her arms around his neck and embraces him.

He stiffens with a low, soft exhale, but it’s brief. When he relaxes again, he even gives her some of his weight—just a little, but it’s something. It’s promising.

“You express it just fine,” she assures him in a whisper.

Dimitri says nothing, but after a moment he turns his face into her shoulder. His hands brush the tops of her arms, light and uncertain; when Byleth doesn’t react, they quickly dart behind her and pull her against him.

It might be his clumsy strength, the desperation she detected before, or whatever emotion is making his broad shoulders tremble, but his grip is stone-solid and tight as though he doesn’t plan to ever let go. Breathing is uncomfortable, but Byleth appreciates every second of it and doesn’t interrupt.

When she finally loosens her hold, he immediately does the same. They part slowly and their hands linger on one another’s forearms, his a little more noticeably, for a few seconds more.

“It’s late,” she reminds him, “and there’s a lot to be done tomorrow.”

He nods distractedly. “Yes. I think I’ll stay here a little longer, however.”

She starts to leave it at that, to let him be with whatever thoughts he wants to entertain alone, only to quickly reconsider. “Would you like me to stay?” she offers.

“No, that’s…” Dimitri pauses, rethinking his impulsive response. He looks at her and finds her waiting patiently. As promised.

His thoughtful frown softens. “If it’s no bother, then… yes. Please.”

Judging by the gratitude in his gentle gaze, Byleth doesn’t need to tell him that it’s no bother at all.


End file.
